Where Our Demons Hide
by WhiteWings9
Summary: Alfred Jones, aged 18, takes his ex-primary school teacher to court on charges of sexual abuse. Ivan Braginski, aged 35, had been grooming Alfred since he was eight years old. As the trial progresses, Alfred learns things of himself he would have been happier not knowing, and Ivan fights a losing battle with his mental demons. Viewfinder!AU.
1. The Plaintiff's Case

**Warnings!  
**Child sexual abuse, extremely dubious consent, paedophilia, rape/non-consensual, suicidal thoughts, underage sex, victim blaming.

* * *

**Where Our Demons Hide  
Chapter 1 – The Plaintiff's Case**

There were two, three short raps of the gavel on the sound block, and the court moved to settle in a rolling thunder as everyone found their seats.

Someone let out a small cough.

Then, silence.

After a long minute, the judge peered over the sheaf of papers in her hands and called, "Would the plaintiff please take the stand?"

A tall, well-built young man rose from his seat at the front of the courtroom. He was blond, blue-eyed and handsome, the picture of the all-American ideal, but he looked withdrawn and ashen-faced. His eyes fixed to his feet encased in a pair of black, newly-polished patent leather shoes peeking out under neatly-pressed trouser legs. He walked with stiff limbs over to the witness' stand.

The courtroom guard brought him a Bible and, with one hand placed over it, he said his oath.

"I swear that the evidence that I shall give..." the courtroom guard began.

"I swear that the evidence that I shall give..." Alfred repeated.

"..shall be the truth, the whole truth..."

"...shall be the truth, the whole truth..."

"...and nothing but the truth."

"...and nothing but the truth."

"So help me God."

_So help me God_, Alfred said wordlessly.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and smoothed down his tie as he took his seat. He leaned forwards and made to speak, when he stopped. His bright blue eyes darted around the courtroom, from the jury sitting to his left, to the audience who made up the court in front of him.

He swallowed audibly. He looked frightened.

When he caught sight of his family sitting in a row in the middle of the court, he seemed to regain some of his composure. The lost, frightened look gave way to determination as his lips pressed themselves into a firm line.

"Whenever you're ready," the judge prompted him, kindly.

Alfred nodded.

Staring straight ahead, he spoke into the microphone, "My name is Alfred Jones. I am eighteen years old, and I am accusing my schoolteacher, Mr Ivan Braginski, of sexual abuse."

The line was delivered in a flat, stilted tone. He looked almost like a puppet the way his mouth flapped to form each clipped, over-pronounced word.

But his eyes! His eyes were burning with life. They unfurled and darkened to a deep blue shade as he turned at last to look at the man sitting to his right in the dock; a large, pale-faced man in a light grey suit, with his own pair of dull, unblinking eyes staring straight back at him.

* * *

_The tape started with a screen of white noise. Then it fizzled into colour, and there was a snippet of an old TV commercial before cutting to a side profile of a boy._

_A boy, a little boy with wheat-blond hair and a pair of wide, innocent blue eyes._

_The picture pulled and wavered before coming into focus, the camera lens zooming out so that more of the boy was in frame._

_He was wearing a white school shirt and dark blue shorts. He sat spread-legged on a cement block, scuffing the soles of his shoes as he kicked his feet against the dirt floor, his hands planted palm downwards in the space between his thighs, holding his upper body upright._

_"Say hello, Alfred," came a deep voice from behind the camera, sounding very close to the microphone. _

_The boy, Alfred, twisted around to face the camera and gave a wide grin, showing off a set of milk teeth with a missing gap._

_"Hi! My name is Alfred!" he greeted. "I'm eight years old and I'm with my math teacher, Mr B, who's going to get me ice-cream!" _

_The voice gave a small chuckle, sounding genuinely delighted with the boy._

_"And what flavour would you like?"_

_Alfred brought his hand to his chin. "Uhh... I like chocolate, but I also like vanilla," he said. He frowned as he pondered over the dilemma, muttering, "Chocolate... or vanilla..."_

_The voice gave another chuckle._

_"I'll get you both of them."_

_Alfred looked up, excited. "Really?!" he said._

_He got up and ran to hug the deep-voiced man. The camera shook in the man's hand before righting itself and training on little Alfred with his arms wrapped around his waist._

_"You're the best, Mr B," Alfred said lovingly._

_A large white hand raised itself to pat Alfred on the head. It lingered just long enough over his soft blond locks to seem overly familiar._

* * *

"I was eight years old. School was out, and my parents were late to pick me up that afternoon. They called in to say they would be late. Mr B – Mr _Braginski_, my math teacher – he offered to stay and watch till they picked me up."

"And this was when he first made an advance on you, Mr Jones?"

It was Alfred's lawyer prompting him to confirm.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah," he said.

"A _sexual_ advance?"

Alfred nodded again. "Yeah," he repeated in a thin rasp.

"Could you please recount the moment for the jury, Mr Jones?"

Alfred trained his eyes to his hands clutching his tiepin, twirling it round and round in between thumb and forefingers. He did not speak immediately.

A small eternity passed before he leaned towards the microphone and mumbled, "He made me kiss him."

* * *

_He could still remember the warmth of that summer afternoon and the smooth coolness of the cement block pressing to the back of his thighs._

_They were in the front grounds of the school, and Mr B had bought him two cones of ice cream from a passing vendor; one chocolate and one vanilla, as promised. His face and hands were sticky with the soft cream as they melted quicker than he could eat them._

_Mr B had set aside his small camcorder to fish out a handkerchief from his pocket. He took Alfred's tumbler - a brightly coloured plastic tube themed with cartoon superheroes - and poured some water over the handkerchief. He brought the makeshift wipe to Alfred._

_"Let's get you cleaned up," he said._

_Alfred scrunched his nose, hands still clutching the ice cream cones as Mr B scrubbed his face with the handkerchief. Once he was done, he folded the handkerchief over and set it aside for later use._

_"Mr B, how do I say your name again?" Alfred asked curiously._

_"It's Braginski," Mr B said._

_Alfred frowned, muttering the name under his breath to try it out. His tongue twisted on itself and he gave up._

_"What's your first name?" he asked, defeated._

_"It's Ivan."_

_"Can I call you Ivan?"_

_Mr B cast him a sidelong glance._

_"That's a very intimate thing to do, to call an adult by his first name."_

_Alfred stared._

_"Do you know what 'intimate' means, Alfred?"_

_Alfred shook his head no._

_"It means..." Mr B paused, searching for the right words. "It means… you're close to someone, or familiar with someone. It means we have to be very good friends first."_

_Alfred was silent for a moment as he mulled over his teacher's words._

_"Are we good friends, Mr B?" he broached._

_Mr B blinked once. His eyes were a pair of startling violet, taking on an unearthly hue in the light of the bright afternoon sun as he turned to face Alfred with an unreadable expression._

_"Of course," he said._

* * *

"I kissed him on the cheek first. As a – as a gesture of friendship, I guess. So I'd get to call him 'Ivan'."

A smile flickered over his lips, short and bitter. He bowed his head.

"Then he told me he could teach me how grown-ups kissed," he mumbled. "He held me by my chin and he made me kiss him on the mouth."

The court was deathly silent, but all eyes turned to Ivan Braginski who sat completely expressionless. Alfred did not look up to see this.

"He also told me that grown-ups kissed with their tongues," he continued, still staring at his hands. "He wanted to show me, but I thought it sounded gross and said I didn't want to. He dropped it then.

"And not long after, my parents came to pick me up."

An audible sigh escaped his lips. The recount seemed to have shaken him a little, but he also looked relieved to have had the story told and the weight lifted from his chest. His lips twitched a little at the corners in an almost-smile.

"Did you tell anyone of this encounter then?" his lawyer prompted him.

Alfred looked up. "No," he said.

He lied.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER!**  
I do not and never will condone illegal sexual conduct with minors nor excuse child molesters.


	2. The Plaintiff's Evidence

******Warnings!  
**Child sexual abuse, extremely dubious consent, paedophilia, rape/non-consensual, suicidal thoughts, underage sex, victim blaming.

* * *

**Where Our Demons Hide  
****Part 2 – The Plaintiff's Evidence**

_When he was a child, Alfred had a stuffed toy rabbit that had been an inseparable part of him. He would take it everywhere with him, dragging it along by one of its paws as he ran around the house or the back garden, making up his own make-believe adventures with it. It never had a name, it was always 'the rabbit' to him; but he loved it dearly, and kept it even after he outgrew his other toys and became fascinated with superheroes instead._

_By the time he was eight years old, the old rabbit was falling apart. Originally white and fluffy to the touch, its coat was now matted and grey with accumulated dust. It had lost one button eye, torn a hole in its belly that was mended and torn again, and was overall in a very sorry state._

_One night, as he was being tucked into bed, his papa Francis plucked up the rabbit by its ear and tutted, "This is such an old toy, Alfred. Are you sure you do not want to throw it away?"_

_"No!" Alfred snatched the rabbit back from his papa, clutching it fiercely to his chest._

_"Mais mon chou, I can get you a new rabbit."_

_"I don't want a new rabbit!"_

_Mattie, his twin brother, stirred suddenly in his sleep. He had gone to bed at an earlier hour after he was taken out of school for feeling under the weather. Alfred and Francis froze, Francis looking worriedly over as Mattie shifted around in his bed an agitated manner. Upon finding his stuffed polar bear – which was taken a lot better care of than Alfred's stuffed rabbit – he fell still again, and his breathing evened out without him waking._

_"Alright, just don't disturb your little brother," Francis whispered._

_Alfred closed his eyes as his papa planted a stubbly kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, papa," he said as Francis rose to leave._

_"Goonight, mon lapin," Francis said lovingly. _

_He closed the door after him with a soft click, and Alfred listened as he padded down the stairs, his footsteps slowly fading to silence._

_He settled under his covers and cuddled the rabbit closer to him._

_"Hey rabbit," he whispered. "Today I got to call Mr B by his first name – Ivan. But I can only call him that when we're alone. It has to be our secret, he said."_

_He fell silent then, listening to Mattie's quiet breathing. After a moment, he spoke to the rabbit again, but in a sleepier tone, "I'm only telling you because you can't talk, so you won't get to tell anyone._

_"Okay, goodnight."_

* * *

"During his primary school years, my client attended private tutoring sessions with the accused. These sessions took place after normal school hours in empty classrooms where my client was groomed for a sexual relationship. It began when he was only eight years old, and would last for four years until he left his primary school studies."

Alfred stared without really seeing as his attorney addressed the jurors with this. He felt strangely distant from the whole affair, as if he was listening to somebody else's story and not his own.

_Client_.

_Accused_.

_Abuse_.

What odd words they sounded. None of it seemed real.

"Now the accused…"

He snapped up at that, sensing the shift in his lawyer's tone. His lawyer had wandered back to their table to pick up a thick rectangular package, holding it aloft so the court and jury could see.

"The accused had a penchant for video recording. Hundreds of tapes were seized from his home on the day of his arrest, a number of which contained footage of him sexually assaulting my cli–"

"Objection!" the defence attorney spoke up, rising from his seat so violently the chair screeched across the floor. "Your Honour, we were not informed that the prosecution intended to present any videotapes as evidence in court!"

"Your Honour, you will find that the prosecution has notified the defence that these tapes, which was given over by the police yesterday, will be used as evidence in court today."

The judge scanned the papers before her, reading quickly through the list of exhibits to be presented that day. She gave a small nod as she looked up.

"The prosecution has given prior disclosure. I will allow it. Overruled."

Alfred stared across the room to where Ivan Braginski sat flanked with two security guards. His old primary school teacher was looking down and picking at his own fingernails, not seeming to take any notice of the exchange between the attorneys and the judge.

A cold fury slowly swept over Alfred. It was as if Ivan Braginski had not a care in the world! How dare he act so _nonchalant_? As if none of this concerned him, as if none of it mattered…

The _bastard_!

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," his lawyer said, walking over to address the jurors once more. "This tape" – he unwrapped the package to draw out a videotape cassette as he spoke – "was shot by the accused himself in March of 1999 when he first initiated sexual contact with my client."

Alfred turned to watch as a TV set was wheeled into the courtroom. He missed the moment when Ivan looked up to cast him a pained look.

* * *

_Like any eight-year-old schoolchild, Alfred loved nothing more than to have class begin with the teacher wheeling in a TV set. _Yes!_ he thought excitedly, cheering along with his classmates as Mr B rolled the set to the front of the room._

_"You're going to need a pencil and paper to follow this video lesson," Mr B said warningly in a half-hearted effort to dampen their excitement. The students made dutiful grumbling noises, but it was apparent that they were still happy at the prospect of a doss lesson. _

_Mr B walked down the middle of the classroom, handing out a piece of plain paper to each child, and making sure that everyone had a pencil before doubling back. He plugged the TV into the power socket, fed a videotape into the VCR, and pushed the play button. The child closest to the light switches was instructed to get up and shut off the lights, which he did. The TV flickered on._

_An image of a man in a white lab coat came onscreen. He was standing in front of a blackboard scribbled over with numbers and equations, and the words 'Lesson 4' were superimposed over him in large white letters. The man stared blankly out at them as the letters slowly faded from the screen._

_"Now class," he began in a high, overly chirpy tone. "Today we are going to learn about division and how to solve them…"_

_Alfred jumped. Without anyone noticing, Mr B had circled around the classroom, and was now standing right behind where he was sitting at the back of the class. His teacher placed one large hand at the edge of his desk, placing all his weight on it as he leaned to peer over his right shoulder._

_"How are you getting on, my pet?" he murmured into Alfred's ear, his voice low and breathy as he breathed in the scent of Alfred's shampoo._

_"Okay," Alfred mumbled._

_He had only written his name and the day's date on his piece of paper, but he was now focused on writing down the math question posed by the man in the lab coat. As he scribbled, Mr B held himself in place, breathing shallowly against his skin._

_The video lesson continued to roll as the man in the lab coat rambled through examples of applying the working method to solve divisions. _

_After a moment, Mr B finally lifted his hand off the desk and walked around to sit in the empty chair beside Alfred. He snaked one casual arm around Alfred's little waist as his other hand smoothed down to rest on his thigh, tapping one foot idly against the floor in an absent-minded display of contentment._

_Alfred kept his eyes fixed to the TV, occasionally ducking his head to write down his answers. _

_He did not mind having Mr B's arm around his waist. He would be lying if he said he was not flattered by his teacher's special attention._

* * *

Back in the courtroom, the home movie played to a crowd that was stunned into grim silence.

Alfred kept his eyes averted from the screen. He did not have to watch the tape. The memory of his first tutor session with Ivan Braginski was forever etched in his mind, and it played like a personal film for him if he were to close his eyes now.

He wished he could shut out the noise coming from the TV as well.

* * *

_It was 15:36 on March 16th 1999._

_The day had been a particularly warm one. The radiators had been left on in an empty classroom after school hours, and Alfred was unbearably hot in his woollen school sweater._

_The camcorder was set on a desk as Mr B rushed over to help Alfred take off his sweater._

_Too tall to fit fully into the frame, the camcorder nevertheless caught Mr B's smile as Alfred wriggled himself free of the offending article. He grinned up at Mr B, his hair all mussed and sticking up on end as he tossed his sweater aside. Mr B combed his fingers through Alfred's wheat-golden hair, smoothing it back down. He had a stubborn cowlick that would not stay down, and Mr B tugged playfully at it, making Alfred giggle._

_Mr B knelt to the floor so he was facing Alfred, and the tone changed abruptly then._

_Their faces came within inches apart and the tips of their noses touched; Alfred's small and freckled nose brushing against Mr B's large, hooked one. Carefully, Mr B leaned slowly in, and very gently, he pressed a kiss to Alfred's lips._

_Awkwardly, clumsily, Alfred returned the kiss. His small hands reached around Mr B's neck and held to him as he returned the kiss as best he could. Where he was inexperienced, he more than made up for with a pliant eagerness. The kiss deepened, and Mr B let out a sudden groan in an unmistakable sound of want._

_"My sweet," he panted as their lips came apart. "So precious… so eager…"_

_He stripped off his own sweater, pressing short, desperate kisses to Alfred as he shrugged off the sweater and let it spill to the floor. Rising to his feet, he seized Alfred by his waist and lifted him up to set him on the table. _

_The footage juddered and pulled as Mr B reached over to pick up his camcorder._

_"Say hello, Alfred," Mr B said hoarsely as he trained the camcorder on the schoolboy lying splayed on the desk; his little chest heaving, his lips pink and moist from kissing._

_"Hi," Alfred said with a shy, hesitant wave._

_"Tell us how old you are?" _

_"Eight."_

_The camcorder shook slightly in Mr B's hands. He tightened his grip – they could hear his fingers clasp to the machine – and in a thin, excited voice, he asked, "Tell me, Alfred – can you keep a secret?"_

_Alfred stared up at him with his blue, blue eyes. He nodded. "Uh-huh," he said._

_"Swear you won't tell of this to anyone?"_

_The camcorder shifted again as Mr B adjusted its heft. Alfred continued to stare up into the camera lens with his big, round, impossibly blue eyes, the very picture of innocence._

_"Pinkie promise," he offered solemnly, with all the earnestness of a child. He raised one small hand with the little finger hooked for the pledge._

_Mr B wrapped his own finger around Alfred's._

_"Pinkie promise," he repeated as they shook, sealing Alfred to ten years of silence._

* * *

**DISCLAIMER!  
**I do not and never will condone illegal sexual conduct with minors nor excuse child molesters.


End file.
